


A Future Found in the Past

by evil_step_sister



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Time Travel, but you don't have to know the show to read this, early season 4 of spn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6865492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_step_sister/pseuds/evil_step_sister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky find a stranded Dean Winchester lying on the streets of 1940's Brooklyn and Steve insists on taking him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Future Found in the Past

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing with this idea of time travel in the Captain America movies for a while now. Why I ended up making it a crossover with Supernatural and pairing Steve with Dean Winchester? I really don't know. I blame sleep deprivation and the fact it was 5:40 in the morning when I finished this story.
> 
> It is set during very early season 4 of Supernatural, but you really don't have to know anything about the show to read this.

“Here! It was here!”

“Steve, c’mon… It’s almost midnight and I’ve gotta work in the morning.”

“Then you shouldn’t’ve been chasing that dame’s skirt all evening. I know I saw something, Bucky.”

Dean’s eyes squinted open at the sounds. He registered the cold all around him and the shadows of two human-ish shapes, one larger than the other, coming closer.

“Jeez!”

The smaller shadow rushed forward despite the larger trying to hold him back. Dean felt slim fingers on his throat, probably checking for a pulse, and was just able to make out blue eyes before his own closed again.

“Hold on, pal. We’re gonna…”

The words faded as he gave into the darkness and cold to sleep.

* * *

 

“Steve, what are you _doing_?” Bucky rushed forward as Steve began trying to lift the larger man off the ground.

“Look at him, Buck. The guy is only wearing an undershirt and doesn’t even have a jacket for Christ’s sake. He’s gonna freeze to death if we don’t do something.”

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face, slightly too drunk to be arguing against his always-do-the-right-thing friend. “Our heat’s busted, man, and there’s hardly room for the two of us, anyway.”

Steve was beginning to pant under the bulk of the man, somehow having managed to lift him over his shoulder. Bucky blinked at the sight, trying to figure out how his friend had done it, before hurrying over and taking the majority of the stranger’s weight. He grunted as he did, the man heavier than he thought. The guy had to be taller even than Bucky himself and made of muscle besides to weigh this much.

“Still better than lying in the snow,” Steve answered after getting some breath back. Bucky didn’t have it in him to argue any further and began the slow path back home.

* * *

 

Dean woke up the second time slightly more comfortably. A look around him showed a dingy, old fashioned apartment. He was lying on a ratty couch with a couple thin blankets thrown over him. A sudden pulse of pain shot through his head, making him groan. He stifled the sound quickly when he heard shuffling coming from a room behind a closed door. When the sounds stopped, he threw the blankets off and stood up. A closer look revealed that the apartment wasn’t just old fashioned, it looked like he had stepped into an episode of _I Love Lucy_ , if Lucy had been dirt poor. He couldn’t find a single piece of technology that didn’t look like it was over 50 years old, at least.

Checking his pockets found his wallet and phone, which had no signal. Shivering slightly and noting his breath fogging the air in front of him, despite the fact that it had been summer when he fell onto that damn clock, Dean grabbed a jacket from a hook by the front door and quietly left.

It seemed to be early morning, wherever he was. He paused outside the door and took a good look around. Okay. _When_ ever he was. Because this certainly wasn’t the 21st century.

In a daze, he stepped away from the building and made his way down the street. After a while, he came across an honest-to-god paperboy calling out the headlines of the day’s paper. A glance showed him the date and it was all he could do to keep walking like nothing happened.

  1. It’d figure that a damn cursed clock would send him to December of 19-friggin-41.



Now how the hell was he supposed to get _back_?

* * *

 

Steve finished up making dinner for him and Bucky. He didn’t really want to think about Bucky, though. His friend had given him the reaming of a lifetime after he had woken up for work to find the stranger gone and his only good jacket stolen. Steve knew it was his fault. The guy was probably just a bum drunk and Steve had convinced Bucky to let him into their home. It had taken forever for Bucky to save up for that nice jacket, and after everything his friend had done for him after his mother died a few months ago, Steve had just gone and caused him more trouble by being a bleeding heart.

A couple thumps on the door had him sighing and moving towards it, knowing it was probably Bucky home for the day and not looking forward to the cold shoulder he would receive. When he opened it, though, he started back at the tall form of the stranger in front of him. The man’s eyebrows rose when he saw Steve and, yep, that was Bucky’s jacket he was wearing, hands stuffed in the pockets.

Steve began frowning, anger at the man’s actions beginning to rise, and the stranger cleared his throat awkwardly, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.

“Sorry, uh, I’m guessing by your face that I have the right place.”

“If you mean the one you stole from after we kept you from freezing to death, then yes, you have the right place.”

The man sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly shamefaced. “Yeah, about that…” He reached into the pocket of Bucky’s jacket and pulled out a wad of notes. “It’s not much, but… maybe it’ll pay for it.”

Steve narrowed his eyes and took the money, unfolding it and promptly swallowing his tongue. “Not mu-! Are you serious? This is enough to buy that jacket five times over!”

The man blinked in surprise. “Really?”

Steve huffed a strained laugh and pulled enough out of the pile for the jacket, trying to give the extra back. “Here. Thanks, I guess, for coming to pay us back.”

The man waved the offered money away. “No, no. Keep it. As a thank you. Hell, use it to buy five more jackets.” His eyes roved down Steve’s frame, and he couldn’t help noticing that they were very green. The man’s lips quirked up in a smirk. “You look like you could use them.”

Steve’s back stiffened and his smile abruptly fell into an annoyed look. After a moment, he retracted the offered money and pointedly stuffed it in his pocket. The man only laughed.

“C’mon, man, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Once his amusement passed, the man looked awkwardly around him again. “Well, uh… I’ll head out now. Thanks. For last night I mean.”

He turned to go and Steve chewed on his lip for a couple seconds. “Wait!” Jeez, Bucky was gonna knock him a good one for this. “Do you have anywhere to stay?”

* * *

 

Dean, as Steve learned to be the stranger’s name, ended up sticking around. Bucky wasn’t happy at first and only allowed it grudgingly, but after a couple days of talking to the guy, warmed up to him, the two of them getting on surprisingly well. The first few weeks, the man left every day, coming back for meals and leaving again until early morning, sometimes coming back with another wad of notes. Both Bucky and Steve worried where the money was coming from, but when asked, he easily admitted it came from wagers over games of darts, dice, and cards. Not the most honest way to earn, but not really illegal, either, Dean had agreed to be careful of where he did his gambling, lest he get on the wrong side of somebody.

As the days dragged on, Dean seemed to get more and more agitated. Finally having enough of the nervous energy and frustrated irritableness practically rolling off the man in waves, Steve asked what he did everyday and why it seemed so important to him. Dean confessed that the night he had been found by Steve and Bucky, Dean had been separated from his younger brother, Sam. He didn’t know where he was or how to get back to him and had been looking for a way to find him this whole time. Dean seemed very fond of his brother, talking at length about how smart and kind he was, and how he once planned on being a lawyer.

Steve in turn talked about his art and his bitterness over not being accepted into the army due to his health issues, hoping to take the man’s mind off his own problems. It took a while, but Dean eventually calmed down and began to settle into the routine of living with Steve and Bucky, though Steve knew he hadn’t given up hope of reuniting with his brother.

After a couple months, Dean ended up spending more time at the apartment with Steve and talked about maybe finding a job. Steve enjoyed the company and in between working on advertisements he had been hired to make, increasingly found himself making sketches of green eyes, a freckle covered nose, and full lips. Dean’s lips really were full. Bow shaped and dark pink. Too pretty really, for a man. Pretty enough to rival any dame.

Steve blushed and hurriedly ripped out that particular page of his sketchbook.

* * *

 

Things continued on in this manner a few more weeks until things took a turn in a direction Steve never saw coming and still had a hard time believing afterwards.

Dean and Steve were alone, like usual at this time of day. Both were sitting at the small dining table, Dean with a paper and Steve sipping on tea that had gone nearly cold while he was working. Dean said something that distracted him and the mug slipped from his fingers while he laughed. Yelping in surprise, Steve hastily began trying to salvage his art while Dean grabbed up a hand towel and kneeled down to help him clean up.

While Steve fussed with his book, Dean wiped up the little that made it to the floor and then pressed the towel to the wet spots on Steve’s shirt. Feeling one of Dean’s hands on his leg and embarrassed that someone was drying him off, Steve looked down. His breath caught in his throat at the unexpected closeness of the other man and when he looked up, Steve could see the specks of brown in his green eyes, could count every freckle across his nose. He didn’t realize they had both frozen in place, just staring at each other, until Dean dropped the towel and moved his hand up to the side of Steve’s neck.

Without thinking, Steve let himself be pulled forward and closed his eyes when Dean’s soft mouth touched his own. He sank into the feeling for the barest moment, before his eyes flew open and he pushed back hurriedly.

Dean seemed surprised by the abrupt separation and frowned at him confusedly until he took in Steve’s horrified face. Then he backed up, nearly toppling over in his haste, and looked away.

“Sorry,” he said earnestly. “I shouldn’t have – it was wrong for me to assume – I guess I read things wrong – I -”

Steve cut off his rambling. “Why?”

“…What?”

“Why would you do that?” Steve’s heart was probably beating faster than could be healthy given his issues, but that hardly mattered right now. “I’m… I may be small, but I’m not a woman, Dean. I’m a man. Why would you…?” He couldn’t have meant that kiss the way Steve wanted him to.

“I know that.” Dean said slowly. “I know you’re a man. Kind of a hard thing to miss. I don’t care, though.” Steve stayed silent, processing that, and Dean continued. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, if you don’t want me to. I can leave if…”

He made as if to stand and Steve shot out a hand, gripping his arm. “No. Don’t… don’t leave. I just…” He took a deep breath and spoke without looking Dean in the eye. “Dean, would you kiss me again?”

The other man moved until Steve was forced to look at him. “Do you really want me to?”

This was something he’d never told anyone, had hardly admitted to himself. It was the kind of thing that could get him thrown in jail or beaten to death if the wrong people found out. But… he wanted this. “I’ve never been attracted to the women that Bucky keeps trying to set me up with.” He said it in a rush, like he’d been holding it back for so long, it couldn’t be contained now that we was letting it out. “Never. I’ve tried. I’ve kissed a few gals, but… nothing. No one knows. Not even Bucky. If anyone found out I was eyeing fellas that way…” He throat clenched at the thought and it took a couple swallows to work the next words out. “I never thought I’d get the chance, especially not with someone like you. And I’m not letting that pass. So, yeah.” He looked up at Dean now, a familiar stubborn set to his jaw. “I want you to kiss me, Dean.”

Dean gave a crooked smile in response. “Well, I think I can do that.”

The kiss started gentle, just a press of lips. Steve’s fingers trembled slightly as he raised his hands to Dean’s shoulders and slid them to the back of his head. Dean’s hands stayed on his thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the flesh as he slowly deepened the kiss.

It didn’t take long for Steve to start feeling dizzy with the sensations of it and he felt himself inching forward in the chair, closer to the heat he could feel coming off Dean, until they were nearly chest to chest. The man groaned and gripped his hips, encouraging the movement. Suddenly, Dean shifted his grip back to Steve’s legs, rocked back onto his feet, and stood, pulling Steve close to him and up in the air. Steve gasped, breaking the kiss, arms and legs automatically wrapping around Dean. Dean chuckled, nosing at Steve’s neck, but Steve began tensing up, worry starting to build in his chest.

Steve hated it when it was pointed out to him, hated even more to admit it to himself, but he was small. Weak. Dean was so much larger than he was and if he decided to do something Steve disagreed with, he wouldn’t have any way to stop the other man. Steve had heard others talk about what some men would do to women and even other men. He had even been threatened with it himself a couple times by drunks he had ticked off and picked fights with in dark alleys before Bucky inevitably showed up to scare them off. There was no Bucky here. What had he gotten himself into?

“Shh,” Dean soothed into his throat, obviously feeling his tenseness. Steve was surprised again when the man fell backwards onto the couch, Steve straddling his lap, and relaxed his hold to barely touching. Steve pushed on Dean’s chest to straighten himself and blinked down in surprise at Dean’s small smile below him. “Sorry, guess I should have warned you I was going to move.” Hands rubbed lightly up and down Steve’s sides. “Relax, Steve. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. You’re calling the shots here. You want to stop? We can stop. You only want to kiss, that’s all we’ll do. You want to go further, that’s fine, too. It’s up to you. I’ll follow your lead.”

“Really?” Dean only nodded, still petting soothingly at his sides. Steve finally relaxed again, a blush coloring his cheeks. Dean was a good man, he wouldn’t do something like that. He shouldn’t have spazzed out that way. “Sorry.”

Dean smiled, “Don’t be.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that, so he leaned forward and tentatively kissed Dean again. Dean sighed into it and deepened it slowly until Steve was back to feeling dizzy with it. Pulling back slightly, he tugged at Dean’s shirt questioningly. “Can I?”

In answer, Dean sat up and lifted his arms up, grinning at him. Licking his lips, Steve managed to get the top off and swallowed at the sight, fingers automatically skimming over the lines of muscle. Dean wasn’t the most sculpted man Steve had seen, but wherever his fingers ran was firm and warm, and Steve couldn’t help marveling at the trembling and twitches of the muscles that followed his fingertips.

Without much thought, Steve dipped his head, lips tracing over the path of his hands, and Dean gasped. Steve noted that some places that caused the man to moan or arch more into the touch. Then, Dean’s hand moved to the back of his neck, pulling him back up and kissing him soundly.

In a quick movement, Dean spun them around so that Steve was lying on his back with Dean perched above him, still between his legs. He gasped at the abrupt change and shifted nervously. Dean leaned down to again nose at and softly kiss his throat. “Easy. We can stop if you want, you just have to say so.”

Steve shook his head and bent his knees for leverage to push closer to Dean’s body above him. Dean grunted at the contact and moved his hands to the buttons of Steve’s shirt.

“Your turn?” he asked. Steve hesitated and Dean obviously took it as a no. He moved his hands away from the buttons without complaint and brought them to his hips instead, shifting to resume kissing.

“No.” Dean froze immediately and pulled back slightly. “I mean,” Steve hurried to continue, “you can if you want - take my shirt off – but, it’s just… I mean, are you sure? I’m not… not much to look at. You don’t have to.”

Dean gave a disbelieving laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Have you looked at a mirror lately?” The man made quick work of the shirt and pulled off his undershirt just as efficiently. “You’re beautiful, darlin’.”

Steve could feel his face redden even more at the pet name. “Not a dame, Dean.”

The man leered and pointedly roved his eyes down Steve’s body, lingering slightly at the bulge in his pants. “Obviously.” It was a wonder Steve’s face wasn’t on fire at this point and Dean gave a delighted smile, hands lightly running down his chest, nails only barely scratching. “You’re a full-body blusher! Ha! I thought you would be.”

Steve gave a growl he didn’t know he could make and gripped Dean’s hair in one hand, pulling him down to stop his laughter by pressing their lips together firmly. Steve reveled in the feel of Dean’s hands on his skin, muscles trembling and a line of heat following in their wake. Who knew it could feel this good just to be touched?

A jolt passed through him when Dean’s hand landed on his crotch. A hiss passed his teeth and he lifted his hips in answer to Dean’s unasked question. The man easily undid his belt, but paused before pulling the pants off.

“You’re sure? We don’t have to -”

“I know,” Steve cut him off, willing the man to get on with it before Steve lost his nerve. “I know.”

A few moments of shuffling took care of Steve’s pants and underpants, leaving Steve lying on the couch, completely bare and panting. Dean was sitting on his heels, just looking at him and Steve began squirming self-consciously, hands twitching to cover himself.

Dean caught his wrists before he could and licked into his mouth with a kiss that left him breathless. “God, just look at you. You’re beautiful.”

A hand gripped around his base, stroking slow but firm and Steve let out an embarrassing whine against Dean’s lips. Dean’s work callused fingers were so different from his own slender ones.

The other man shifted down and began mouthing at Steve’s neck, but didn’t linger, sliding further to lay soft kisses and stinging bites down his chest and stomach. His breath hitched when Dean bit softly at his inner thigh and his eyes darted quickly down.

“Dean? What’re you -”

He cut off with a moan as Dean ran a tongue up his shaft before enveloping him completely with his mouth. This wasn’t something he expected Dean to do and Steve couldn’t quite focus on anything with all the new sensations flooding his body. He’d heard men talk about it, of course, over drinks and in the dance halls Bucky liked to drag him to, but this… He didn’t imagine it this hot and wet and… _what_ did Dean just do with his tongue, Christ that felt nice.

Steve came back to himself enough to register that he had Dean’s hair in a grip tight enough that it had to be causing him pain and glanced down to make sure he was alright with it. And okay, that was probably a mistake because Dean was looking up at him through his lashes, his pretty mouth stretched around him as he slipped in and out of that wet heat. Steve threw his head back again and squeezed his eyes shut. His brain wasn’t letting him form words, so he tugged urgently at Dean’s hair to get him to move off, trying to warn him…

The warmth in his abdomen reached a peak and Steve could feel his body clench and arch as he reached release. He half expected Dean to pull back in disgust, but instead Dean swallowed around him, pulling off with a wet sound when Steve was spent and lying limply on the couch.

Dean moved back up his body and Steve managed to crack open his eyes to see the man’s red and swollen lips curve in a satisfied smile. Steve groaned at the sight and the sound was muffled when Dean pressed forward and shoved into Steve’s mouth, letting him taste himself on the other man’s tongue. Surprisingly, it wasn’t completely disgusting and Steve put a hand on the back of Dean’s head to hold him in place.

A few moments later, Steve managed to get his head in order enough to remember that Dean was still waiting for the same release. Forcing himself not to think about it too much, Steve reached down and fumbled Dean’s pants open. The other man didn’t stop him, but brought a hand up to rest over his jaw, tilting his head up to look him in the eyes.

“You don’t have to.”

Steve narrowed his eyes in slight annoyance. “So I’ve heard. Multiple times in fact. I think I got it by now.” Without further ado, Steve shoved Dean’s pants down to free his erection. The man gasped at the sudden contact with cool air and Steve licked his lips before determinedly taking a hold of the heavy member. He had done this to himself and knew what he liked and tried to apply that to his work on Dean, beginning by moving his hand slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed as he found a comfortable rhythm and angle. Dean groaned and dropped his head down to Steve’s slender shoulder. He could feel the other man’s warm breath panting against his collarbone and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Steve twisted his wrist and flicked his thumb experimentally over the head and Dean went stiff above him. Strings of white followed soon after, covering his hand and landing on his stomach.

Dean fell to the side and squeezed himself in the small space left on the couch, face still tucked into Steve’s neck. Steve shifted slightly and Dean opened his eyes to see the smaller man curiously stick a semen-coated finger in his mouth.  

The Winchester’s eyes widened before he shut them tightly again. “God, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Steve gave a laugh, then shuffled from under Dean to get something to clean off with.

* * *

 

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for them to be found out. Luckily it was only Bucky, and all things considered, Steve’s best friend took the news rather well.

Three days after their time on the couch, Bucky had a rare day off work and Dean was heading out to the drugstore for, as he said, “emergency snackage”. He had ruffled Steve’s hair as he passed by, careful not to let the touch linger too long in front of Bucky, but apparently it lingered enough. Steve’s resulting blush might have tipped him off as well.

Catching Bucky’s narrowed eyes after Dean had gone, Steve hurried from the living room to deposit his art supplies in their small bedroom. He turned back around and gave a start at the sight of Bucky leaning casually on the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“So…” the taller man started slowly, drawing the word out. “You and Dean, huh? How long’s that been going on?”

Steve’s eyes widened and a sharp spike of panic shot down his spine. “…What?” That was really the best he could do at the moment.

Bucky rolled his eyes and pushed away from the door with a huff. “C’mon man, I’ve known you for how many years now? And I’d know the ‘I just had great sex’ look anywhere. So, you gonna tell me or what?”

The lump stuck in Steve’s throat right now couldn’t be normal, right? He swallowed past it and managed to wheez out, “Three days. And we haven’t… haven’t done… that… yet.”

Eyebrows rising in surprise, Bucky stopped walking toward him. “Three days? That’s it? The way you two have been making eyes at each other for the past few weeks, I figured it had been longer than that.” His looked turned concerned. “Hey pal, you alright? You look like you’re about to have an asthma attack, or something.”

Realizing his breathing was a touch labored, Steve focused on calming it down before speaking again. “You’re not… not disgusted with me? Not upset that I’m an invert?”

Expression softening, Bucky closed the distance between them and slung an arm around his skinny shoulders. “Stevie. You’re my best bud. Of course I’m not disgusted with you and I’m not gonna just leave you hanging because of something like that. End of the line, right?”

Steve let out a shaky breath of relief and smiled up at his friend. “Yeah, that’s right, Buck… Thank you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna rearrange Winchester’s face if he does anything to hurt you, though.”

Steve let Dean know that Bucky was aware of their relationship when he got back. The man didn’t look too concerned, but Steve was practically wringing his hands when Bucky took him aside to talk privately. Following this, Steve and Dean gradually got a bit more open with their affections, in the apartment at least.

At first, Bucky narrowed his eyes at Dean unhappily whenever any kind of touch lingered too long. That lasted until the night Bucky came home from work to find the two of them asleep on the couch, Steve curled in Dean’s lap. The sound of his entrance woke the Winchester and the man tensed up in preparation for anything Bucky might have to say about the situation. Steve grumbled unhappily in his sleep at the change and Dean absently ran his fingers through blond hair to relax him back into a calm sleep. Eyeing the two for another moment, Bucky shrugged and plopped on the other end of the couch with the day’s paper. Whatever Bucky thought of that night, something must have altered his opinion on them being together because any later more-than-platonic moments between the couple was graciously tolerated with no hostile looks directed at Dean after that.

* * *

 

1942 passed slowly into 1943, and honestly, Dean would be hard pressed to name any moment he had been happier. Sure he missed his brother – missed him a hell of a lot – but he had done every damn thing he could think of to get back to his time. Time travel was something he had never thought possible and even after months of research, limited as it was with this time’s technology and information sharing, he had no idea where to even start to get back. He could only hope that Sam would come up with something in the future to bring him forward in time.

After a few months in the past, Dean began to actually relax and enjoy his time here. He didn’t have the same resources as in the future to look for hunts, so any creatures he hunted down were close to where he was quickly coming to think of as home. And after the time he spent in Hell? The break was appreciated.

Not since he was four years old had Dean ever settled down in the same place for as long as he’d been here. And he enjoyed it. He got to know the neighborhood around him, the people running the shops he visited frequently, and most importantly, the men who had allowed him into their lives. Bucky was one of the best friends he had ever had outside of his brother, and Steve? Well…

He glanced to the side at the smaller man walking beside him down the street. The summer sun made his blond hair shine and his eyes glittered the clearest blue with tears of laugher. Dear Lord, he’d never sounded like such a sap before. If he ever said something like that out loud, please, somebody stab him. But no matter how much he berated himself for such thoughts, it didn’t stop them coming. Didn’t stop him from wanting to pull Steve closer and never let him go, even though they could never do something like that in public. Didn’t stop the fact that he was absolutely in love with this man.

He must have been looking for too long because when Steve next looked up at him, the man bumped him with a bony elbow. “Something wrong?”

“Nah,” Dean shook his head and kept walking towards the movie theater. “Just thinking. Nothing important.”

They got to the theater and claimed some seats. As some kind of Uncle Sam, ‘I Want You’ reel started playing, Dean tapped Steve on the arm. “I’m going to get a pop. You want one?”

Steve nodded absently, eyes on the picture. When Dean came back, the man was nowhere to be found. Having been around long enough to know Steve’s tendencies, he left the building and began searching in the nearby alleyways. He turned a corner in time to see a large guy being shoved out of one of the narrow streets and go running. Sighing, he made his way over.

“Dammit, Steve.” The words were more resigned than angry and Bucky and Steve looked up from the end of the alley to where Dean stood. Bucky wrapped an arm around his friend with a laugh while Steve wiped blood from his face.

“C’mon,” Bucky said, slinging his other arm around Dean’s shoulders and dragging the two of them down the street. “It’s my last day here and I’m not gonna spend it listening to the two of you bicker like an old couple.”

“Where are we going?” Steve asked, not bothering trying to argue or refute the statement.

Bucky laughed and pulled out a paper to show them. “The future!”

* * *

 

“The future” turned out to be an expo held by some big-shot inventor named Stark. None of the so-called technology of the future impressed Dean much, being he was actually from the future, but it was still interesting to see what people were imaging the future to be like so long ago.

Bucky had decided to turn the outing into a date-night and ended up bringing a couple girls along. He claimed to have only invited one of them with her friend tagging along without his knowledge, giving his two friends an apologetic look. Dean wouldn’t have minded all that much, but the girl’s friend had decided to turn her attentions onto him since Bucky’s date was otherwise engaged. This had the effect of Steve being brushed off to the side, annoyed looks being sent towards him for getting in the way of the girl’s flirtations. It was really starting to piss Dean off. Could the girl really not take the hint that he wasn’t interested?

When he finally had enough and brushed her off to lose her in the crowd, Steve was nowhere to be found. For the second time that day.

It took nearly two hours for Bucky and Dean to hunt him down again. Thankfully, there were no new bruises or blood, but the expo was about over by then and Bucky had promised the girls they’d go dancing. Neither of the other two wanted to tag along, so the man gave Dean a hug and muttered a last warning about watching out for Steve in his ear. Dean gave him his promise and watched the goodbye between the two friends.

When Bucky was finally out of sight, Steve continued to stand on the steps of the expo like an abandoned puppy. Giving in to his desires, Dean wrapped an arm around his smaller boyfriend and pulled him to his side, trying to make it seem as ‘bro-hug’ as possible to the passersby as they head back home.

* * *

 

It was the next day that Steve let Dean know what he had been up to during those hours he disappeared at the expo. He had attempted to register with the army. Again. And this time…

“You were _what_?”

“Accepted,” Steve repeated stiffly from the other side of the room.

“…You were _what_?”

Steve let out a heavy sigh. “Dean -”

“No,” Dean cut him off firmly. “What the _hell_ were you thinking? What the hell are _they_ thinking? They accepted you? The army is going to eat you alive, never mind what the Nazis will do if they get their hands on you!”

“Dean, I have to do this! Please, tell me you understand!” Steve moved forward and took Dean’s hands in his own, leaning his forehead against Dean’s chest. “Men are out there fighting and dying, Dean. I don’t have the right to do any less than them. If I can manage to help even one person who can’t help themselves… isn’t the risk worth it?”

Shit. _‘Saving people, hunting things, the family business’_. His own words echoed in his head as worry and helplessness tore through his chest. Nothing he said would make Steve change his mind. The man was more stubborn than Sam and had enough courage and valor to fill a man twice his size.

“Dammit, Steve. I can’t -” _I can’t lose you. I can’t help you. I can’t stop you._ “Promise me you’ll be safe. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Steve lifted his arms and wound them around Dean’s waist. “I can’t do that. You know that. But I promise I’ll try.”

Dean nodded and pressed a kiss into the blond head under his chin. “I love you. You know that?”

Steve lifted his head and used a hand to bring Dean down to meet him, pressing their mouths firmly together. “I know. I love you, too, Dean.”

* * *

 

That first night alone in the apartment was almost unbearable. The second night, Dean gave into his worry and wrote Steve a letter, hoping it would make it to the army camp he was sent to. Apparently it did, because it wasn’t much longer that he got a letter in return. He never held back what he wanted to say in his letters, telling Steve how much he missed him, asking him to be careful, reminding him he loved him and would wait for him to come home. God, he sounded like a friggin’ housewife. But he was careful never to sign his name or let on that he was male. Instead, he drew the pentagram he had tattooed on his chest in place of a signature. Steve had asked him about it once, and he answered as honestly as he could that it was meant to be a symbol of protection. Steve had seemed to like the idea, and Dean had caught him drawing the symbol in the corners of his sketchbooks on occasion.

The third letter he got, Steve told him he was due to leave the camp soon for a special mission the army had him doing. He wasn’t allowed to say anything about it, but would write again when it was over. He sent one back with the usual messages, and telling him that whatever the military had him doing, that Dean knew he’d be great at it.

Two days later, as Dean was exiting the apartment and heading to the diner around the block for some breakfast, a man in a trench coat suddenly appeared before him. His mind barely had time to register him as the angel Castiel before a hand was laid on his forehead and they disappeared.

He blinked and was suddenly standing in a crappy motel, surrounded by decorations from the ‘80s, Castiel standing next to him with a perfectly blank expression, and his brother beaming at him. He returned the hug that Sam enveloped him in tightly, but neither of the men with him could understand why he suddenly started sobbing, calling out apologies to someone named Steve.

* * *

 

It was two days after the success of Project Rebirth and the assassination of Dr. Erskine that Steve got Dean’s fourth letter. He was due to begin the USO tour the next day. He had nearly begged to make a stop by home, but all his requests were denied. There were too many tests that needed to be done before the tour began, he was too important to risk on his own in the city, etc, etc. He gave in grudgingly. He didn’t have a choice. He was essentially property of the US government now.

So he sent another letter to Dean, this time explaining what he could about Project Rebirth and how it had changed him. The fact that he was a super soldier would become common knowledge after the tour started and he wanted Dean to hear that news from him.

The tour began and Steve got increasingly fed up with the whole thing as it went on and he got further from home. They dressed him up in a ridiculous red, white, and blue suit. Paraded him around and showed him off like a prized circus freak. Forced him into cringe worthy army propaganda picture shows. And Dean never sent another letter.

Had Dean really taken that badly to the news that Steve had changed? Was he upset that Steve had taken part in such an experiment? He tried to tell himself that Dean wouldn’t abandon him just because of that. Dean wasn’t shallow enough to drop someone he said he loved just because the way they looked changed.

But if that wasn’t the reason for the letters stopping, then the remaining options were almost unbearable to think of. If Dean hadn’t stopped sending letters because he suddenly no longer loved Steve, then it meant that he wasn’t sending them because he couldn’t. He had asked someone to check specifically for any mail from his home, thinking maybe it just hadn’t caught up to him moving around the country, but every time, no mail was found.

Inevitably his thoughts took turns to the worst scenarios possible. What if he had gotten in an accident and was lying in the hospital even now? What if he had died in an accident? What if someone had found the letters Steve sent him? Steve wasn’t as careful about hiding who the sender was as Dean. What if someone read them and figured out what they were? What if Dean was arrested for it? What if Dean was killed for it and left in a ditch somewhere? What if, what if, what if…

They circled his thoughts constantly as he recited his lines for the crowds and posed for the pictures and smiled for the cameras.

Months this went on with this horrible unknowing of the fate of the love of his life. Months until the tour sent him overseas, to perform for the troops guarding the front lines of the war. That was when he learned about Bucky and finally took up the mantle that Captain America was meant for all along.

* * *

 

It was nearly a week before Steve and Bucky finally got a chance to sit down and relax together. To talk about what had happened with each of them. Bucky told about what had been done to him by HYDRA in as much detail as he was willing to at the moment, which wasn’t much. Steve explained as well as he could how Project Rebirth had changed him and how he was the one chosen for it. At the end of it they sat quietly for a moment before Bucky gave a weak chuckle.

“I don’t guess Dean had any complaints about it. I mean, look at you now! ‘Peak of human perfection’ and all that.” His smile held until he glanced over to his friend and saw the utter blankness found there.

Steve’s face was flat and hard, but his eyes when he turned them to Bucky were sad and haunted. “I wouldn’t know. Haven’t heard from him since it happened.”

“What?” Bucky sat up straight, anger coloring his voice. “What happened? You can’t tell me he left you!”

“No,” Steve’s voice stayed soft. “He didn’t.” Steve pulled out Dean’s last letter from his jacket pocket and showed it to Bucky. “He sent that and I haven’t heard from him since. He wouldn’t just stop writing, Bucky! He’s not like that, you know he isn’t!” Steve gripped his hair as he became more upset. This was the first time he’d been able to voice his fears and let out his worries for the man he loved. “Something must have happened to him, Bucky, and I don’t know what! And I can’t find out because the damn government has a collar around my neck that they’ll use to pull me back here if I ever try to leave and search for him! He could be in jail, he could be dead, he could need me _right now_ and I can’t do anything about any of it!”

Steve’s words died down and Bucky silently handed back the letter when he had calmed. Steve took it carefully and folded it back up, putting in his jacket pocket once more. After a few moments Bucky sighed. “You’re right. He wouldn’t stop writing unless something happened to make him stop.” Steve flinched at the words and his friend put a comforting hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly to get his attention. “But we’ll find out what it was. I promise you. We’ll get through this war, go home, and spend the rest of our days looking for him if we have to.”

Steve gave a somewhat watery smile and ducked his head, scrunching his shoulders as if he was trying to make himself smaller. “You think we can? Find him, I mean?”

“Of course,” Bucky scoffed, leaning back into his chair and took on a purposefully relaxed pose. “We’ll start at home and search around there. Then we’ll move to the rest of New York. If that doesn’t show anything we’ll start working our way out until we’ve searched the whole damn country, if we have to.”

Blue eyes watched his friend intently and hopefully for a couple seconds before a small smile formed on Steve’s face. “You’re right. We’ll find him.”

* * *

 

After hearing the story from Dean, Sam was heartbroken for his brother. He apologized and offered to find a way to send him back, but Castiel had refused to do it as soon as it was mentioned and disappeared to wherever it was angels went to. Heaven probably. The clock that had sent him back in the first place was destroyed after it had been activated.

Dean thanked his brother, but refused to look for any way of traveling back. His place was in the future and he had a duty to complete here, even if his heart was in the past. Steve would understand that. He hoped he would.

* * *

 

Two weeks later found the brothers in Washington D.C. Dean insisted that a case would be the best thing to take his mind off of things and so Sam dug around until he found a simple haunting in a popular hotel in the nation’s capital. It was taken care of quickly and Sam begged off a couple days break to look at the sights.

Dean carefully didn’t look too closely at the WWII memorial, the posters and movies and headlines too fresh in his mind. Sam did manage to drag him to the Smithsonian, though. Dean enjoyed it for the most part, having always had a soft spot for history. Then they came to the most crowded area of the museum and Dean swore his heart stopped.

On the wall, from floor to ceiling and painted in bright colors, was Steve.

It wasn’t really though, it couldn’t be. The man in the picture was tall, strong, had a much stronger face, and was Captain America.

Breath coming too shallow, Dean pushed forward into the exhibit, heedless of the grumbles of the other people around him. He came to a stop in front of a life-size picture of Steve Rogers. His Steve. The one that barely reached his chin, even with the ridiculously large army helmet on his head. His hand reached out and the picture changed to a man just taller than him, broad and strong. But he was the same. The same hair, the same eyes, the same stubborn set to his jaw. It was still his Steve. His Steve was Captain America.

“ _Dean_!”

Dean jolted out of his thoughts at the sound of his brother’s worried voice and hand landing solidly on his shoulder.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you? Why’d you just…” Sam trailed off at the sight of his brother’s wide eyes and glanced back and forth between Dean and the picture of Captain America. Then his eyebrows rose to his hair line. “ _Steve_?” he hissed unbelievingly. “That’s… _this_ is your Steve?”

Dean didn’t bother answering, just began slowly going through all the areas in the exhibit, taking in everything he had missed about the end of his lover’s life. He even found a whole display dedicated to Bucky, but his heart broke again when he learned both his friend and Steve had died barely two years after his return to the future. His brother followed silently, not trying to hurry him along.

He paused at one point and ran his fingers on top of the glass covering one of Steve’s sketchbooks.

“What is it?” Sam asked quietly behind him.

“I gave him this,” he answered just as softly. “The Christmas after they found me in the street. See that big stain along the edge? Bucky knocked over a mug of hot chocolate just after Steve opened it when he threw the newspaper wrapping across the room.” A small smile began to pull at his lips as he remembered. “Steve gave him the cold shoulder for days. He forgave him after a couple hours, of course. He just liked to watch him squirm and try to make up for it.”

The smile fell as the two moved on until they came to the end of the exhibit where a documentary on Captain America was playing on loop. Sam left Dean alone for the show and waited outside for him. If Dean’s face was slightly damp when he emerged from the room, neither of them mentioned it.

* * *

 

One month. That’s how long it had been since Steve had woken up to a future where everyone and everything he loved was long gone. One month, four days, three hours, and twenty-six minutes. He could feel the clock counting the time in his head. The enhancements given to his brain didn’t allow for anything else than absolute precision on everything he set his mind to. Currently, his thoughts were centered on the past, on what had been left behind when he emerged from the ice. One month, four days, three hours, and twenty-nine minutes.

A honk from the car passing just in front of him pulled him away from the clock in his mind and he crossed the street with the crowd of people surrounding him. He didn’t really have a destination in mind. SHIELD had offered to find him a place to live in Brooklyn, but the thought of going home and not finding anything or anyone there that _made_ it home hurt too much. So he stayed in D.C. for the time being.

SHIELD was still wary of putting him out in the field, so he mostly just spent his days wandering around and catching up on everything he had missed while in the ice. He had also been given a folder containing information on his friends and fellow soldiers and what had happened to them after he put the plane down. But one person hadn’t been in there and he and Bucky had made a promise, so one of the first things he had tried to do was hunt down what had happened to Dean. The SHIELD agents in charge of his physical and mental wellbeing had been surprisingly accommodating and had offered to help. Knowing that Dean had been 29 in 1941, Steve asked for any information on a Dean Winchester born in 1912. Only, there was no information. Thinking maybe he had the wrong age, Steve broadened the search to any Dean Winchester born from 1900 to 1925. Nothing.

He had thanked the agent and gone back to his provided apartment incredibly disappointed. The only explanation Steve could think of was that Dean had given them a fake name. With no other names to go on, though, and any evidence of his disappearance 70 years in the past, Steve had to admit defeat.

Reaching the other side of the street, Steve ignored the slamming of an old car door just in front of him.

“C’mon, Dean. A couple more days break before we get back on the road isn’t going to hurt anything.”

Steve flinched at the name and hunched his shoulders, carefully not looking at the two men passing in front of him to the restaurant.

“I told you, Sammy, I don’t want to sit around doing nothing.”

Steve froze at the new voice. He didn’t look up, didn’t dare to get his hopes up, knew it was impossible, but his heart began pounding despite his wishes.

“Dean, you need to _rest_.”

“I don’t need to do _shit_ , Sam. I’m not -”

The voice cut off as the restaurant door closed behind the man and Steve finally let himself breath. He tried to pass by the food joint quickly, but his eyes betrayed him and darted a quick look through the front windows.

It was enough.

It was only the back of him and he was wearing clothes that Steve had never seen on him before, but he knew. It was Dean. _His_ Dean. _How_?

He asked himself that over and over, his advanced mind creating and discarding possibilities rapidly, but he couldn’t come up with a solid answer that didn’t seem impossible. Steve continued to ponder it as he sat on a bench across the street, watching Dean and who had to be his lost brother, eat lunch.

Forty-two minutes. That’s how long it’s been since he found Dean Winchester again. It’s how long it took for Dean and his brother to get up and exit the restaurant. It’s how long it took for Dean to look across the street as he was getting in the large black car and notice him watching. Forty-three minutes.

* * *

 

Dean had led Steve to a rather run-down motel on the edge of the city after the initial shock and suspicion had worn off. Sam had taken the Impala and driven off somewhere to give them some privacy. Dean locked the door behind them and sat heavily on one of the beds, running a slightly shaking hand through his hair. Steve followed him inside and sat at one of the chairs beside the small table on the other side of the room.

The Winchester looked up at him and Steve couldn’t help noticing the sadness in his eyes along with the hope and longing. He figured he looked much the same.

Dean took a breath and spoke first, the question both of them wanted to ask. “How? How are you here, Steve?” Dean gestured heavily to the general outside. “Yesterday I went to the freaking Smithsonian only to learn that you were turned into Captain America after I left and that you had died back in World War II!”

Steve nodded slowly, leaning on his knees and clasping his hands in front of him. “That’s mostly true. I got your last letter a couple days after I was given the super-soldier serum. I tried sending you another explaining what had happened, but… I don’t suppose you ever got it.” Dean shook his head and remained silent. “I did fight in the war and I did put a plane filled with bombs in the arctic. But I didn’t die. The serum, it let me live. I was frozen until they found me about a month ago and defrosted me. They’ve kept the fact that I’m alive pretty secret since then.”

Steve watched as Dean processed that. Finally, the other man nodded slowly and looked back up. “Guess it’s my turn for an explanation, huh? Gotta say, mine’s a little more complicated.”

He kept silent as Dean spun his tale. It was much longer than Steve’s own, starting from the time Dean was a little boy and consisting of monsters, demons, and angels. Dean told him how he never really had a home until he lived with Steve and Bucky in Brooklyn. He told how he ended up there by coming into contact with a cursed object. Told him how an angel brought him back to the future and refused to take him back because he was needed to stop the devil – _the devil_ – from breaking free and ruining the world.

A lot of it sounded crazy. But enough of it made sense, and provided the only decent explanation for Dean’s presence in the past, that Steve gave him the benefit of the doubt and decided to believe him for now.

After a moment of silence, Steve said, “You told me your mother died in a fire.”

Dean blinked, obviously not expecting that to be the first thing brought up, and responded with, “She did. The demon that killed her – he pinned her to the ceiling of my brother’s nursery and set the room on fire.”

Steve grimaced in apology. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No,” Dean shook his head, “it’s fine. You deserve the truth. All of it.” Dean abruptly stood and paced the small room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you.”

Steve watched him and wanted nothing more than to pull him close, hold him like he hasn’t been able to for two years. Or 70, depending on how you want to count them. “When you disappeared, they wouldn’t let me look for you. I – I thought you were dead, Dean.” Dean flinched and guilt crossed his face. Steve immediately felt horrible for his words. He hadn’t meant them to upset Dean or make him feel guilty.

Before he could say anything to correct his mistake, Dean moved so he was just within arm’s reach and stood tall, like he was bracing himself for a physical blow. “It’s only been two weeks for me, since I was in the past. I – I still love you, Steve. But it was longer for you. Years. I… If you’ve moved on, found someone else, I understand. I really do. I can disappear again -”

He cut off when Steve grabbed his arm and dragged him almost desperately forward, until Dean was firmly planted in his lap, Steve’s face buried in his neck.

“No!” Steve’s voice trembled along with the strong arms that encircled Dean tightly. “Don’t. I can’t – I don’t think I can live through you disappearing again. There was never anyone else.” Steve paused and just breathed deeply for a few moments. Dean stayed silent, cautiously running his hand through Steve’s blond hair, unsure if the touch was wanted. “You know, I kept your last letter with me. Carried it everywhere. I had it in my hand when I put the plane down. It was ruined of course, by the water and ice. I threw the biggest fit, though, when I found out SHIELD had thrown it away after I was recovered. I knew you were probably dead back in the ‘40s, and if you weren’t then you had almost certainly died of old age by the time I woke up, and it took a ruined piece of paper being thrown out for me to feel like I’d lost you.”

Dean swallowed and continued petting Steve’s hair, like he used to do when their positions were reversed and Steve would curl in Dean’s lap. “You haven’t lost me. I’m still here. And now you are too. We – I…” He took a breath and tried to straighten his thoughts. “I still want you. It might be hard, but we can work things out, if you’ll have me.”

“I’m different, Dean. Not only my body. I saw things – I did things. I went through a war and came out different.”

“I know. I don’t care. We can work it out.”

“You don’t mind the change? Physically, I mean. Sometimes I miss it, being small. I still feel huge, like I’m too big -”

Dean smiled and lifted Steve’s face to kiss him softly. “First you thought you were too small, now you’re complaining you’re too big? You’re beautiful darlin’. You were then and you are now. That hasn’t changed at all, no matter what your body looks like.” Dean watched as Steve’s blush traveled past his shirt collar and chased it down, kissing through his smile. “Don’t think I can carry you to the bed anymore, though.”

He felt a laugh go through Steve before the man under him tensed up and suddenly Dean found himself in the air. He gave a yelp and clung to Steve’s neck, looking down at the man’s grinning face with wide eyes. After a moment the surprise faded and Dean grinned back as Steve began walking to the bed.

“Alright, I think I can get used to this.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time trying out a story with any kind of romance so forgive me if it needs some work. Hope you enjoyed it anyway!


End file.
